


A Box To Open Up

by monanotlisa



Category: Fringe
Genre: Character Study, Future Fic, M/M, Post-Series, things yet to come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-01
Updated: 2011-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monanotlisa/pseuds/monanotlisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>You've always thought of yourself as a shark. There's no reason to reconsider this notion as such, necessarily -- just to take note that there are boats and harpoonists out there.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Box To Open Up

**Author's Note:**

> [Fringe Kinkmeme](http://fringe-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/508.html) fill; here's the prompt:
> 
> in which Olivia/Peter and Lincoln/Altliv are established relationships and all four are on friendly terms. the four of them make a bet on something. if the boys win, the Livs have to make out while they watch, and vice versa.
> 
> the boys lose.

  


You frown at the table before you, and look around to realize no, you're not the only one somewhat stunned. Lincoln's eyes are incredulous, and he has this little crease on his forehead that's really quite --

"Adorable." Liv's voice is mellow, mellower than even the aged Orkney can account for. "Both your expressions of utter and complete surprise, I mean. Now, pay up, boys."

Maybe you've been hoping for Olivia to laugh, to wave her hand and dismiss this game of cards as the silly pastime it is -- no obligations incurred, none whatsoever. She does smile, it's true; the rest doesn't come. "You've heard the voice of the winning team. Go for it." She leans forward, blond strands brushing her crossed arms, kissing the table's surface. Her green eyes are bright and wicked in ways you thought were reserved just for you (and in special circumstances only).

But what the hell. You’ve learned the hard way not to be a sore loser a long time ago, and besides, this is not the first guy you've kissed. Lincoln, however? For all his metrosexual appearance and demeanor, he looks pretty freaked.

"Hey," you tell him, and of course your voice has dropped into that special register of calm; the confidence that so aptly named your whole class of professionals. "Just a second, and you can go on with your womanizing ways."

Lincoln does a little half-laugh, half-snort at that, and you find yourself grinning too. It'd be easy to dislike the guy, in theory, but in practice it's impossible. He's the Golden Boy of the Other Side, always has been and probably always will be -- he's precisely that capable, smart and sharp, even under pressure -- but he's also got no _finesse_ in interpersonal relations, forever revealing his goofy self. Like, now.

Lucky Lincoln's got you.

You think it's about time that same should stop being wasted. His t-shirt is soft under your fingers, and when you tug him closer, across the wooden bench of the pub, he comes. If it's not willingly, then he's at least being nice enough not to resist too much. Or else your hours at the gym have paid off. You love that Olivia is carrying the gun, and using it too, but you take pride in your ability to at least land a proper punch...or pull, as the case may be.

Lincoln gasps, but his hand grasps your shoulder in a grip that's not quite death-like, but damn close. You decide to tilt your head a little; there's really no sense in _not_ making this the show Olivia and Liv are clearly aiming for.

Nothing is as embarrassing as an intended audience not sold on your performance, after all.

Lincoln hasn't shaved, of course, but then again, neither have you. The sensation of stubble is alien, after so many years, but the sharp _zing_ of pleasure at feeling it brush across your lips is not. He does gasp; you can't gage whether he does so for the same reason; it could be shock? But then you feel his hand on your face, fingers gentle but firm on your jaw, turning your head -- not towards him but sideways, towards Olivia and Liv, so they can see.

You, you mostly feel, because he opens his mouth under yours, and it's every bit as soft as it looks: no chapped lips, not for Agent Lincoln Lee, team division leader Over There. Your free hand hovers, touches down -- if it's his knee and thigh under your fingers, all the better. Although he jumps at your touch, he doesn't jump away from you at all. He kisses you back, but not aggressively so, and you're not fool enough to think that means you can just push him around without a bloody lip or a bruised shoulder. So you still, you explore.

 _Recon_.

His mouth still carries more than a hint of whiskey, the earthy tang of peat still all yours to taste on his palate. But there's also something that's simply male, and beneath that, the pure flavor of Lincoln Lee. Your right hand on his chest has let go of the shirt, stroking rather than holding, and okay, that left one is a little off the mark of Lincoln's knee by now. If that's how you defined mark, that is.

You come to the conclusion that Lincoln's code of conduct doesn't deviate that far from yours, and the Olivias come to the conclusion it's time for a round of applause.

Lincoln draws back, and so do you, but his breath is still going faster, and his lips are very pink. You don't look down, but mostly because that may ensure he doesn't do so either. Your biggest smile for the girls is in order, clearly. "Paid in full, and more." You tilt your head at Olivia, catch her eye – catch a glance at the blush on her cheeks too. Liv doesn't actually look that different; come to think of it, you're pretty sure you've never seen that particular wide-eyed expression on her face before. "I frankly think a little reimbursement from the two of you wouldn't go amiss."

There's a beat of perfect, promising silence.

But then Olivia's eyes crinkle at the corners when she laughs in that way you can never ever get enough of. "Dream on. Or, count your cards more quickly."

Fair enough, you suppose; it has been a while. Not long until all of you call it a night, though, get the tab and get out too. In the doorway, Liv catches your sleeve, just so, and motions you to lean in. For a breath, you wonder whether she'll serve you a variant of _All's Fair In Love And War_. Liv does smile, almost but not quite sweet, and whispers into your ear softly enough to make you shiver involuntarily, automatically, after all this time, "I hope you didn't imagine we'd let you win this."

"I thought we'd earn our victory," you say, low and loaded.

Liv laughs, genuinely amused, and that's not what disturbs you. It's the expression on Olivia's face when you turn to look at her; even you (with a track record you like to think of purged as per a certain drug trip in the literal sense) would be hard-pressed to tell who's who if it weren't for the hair, the dress, and all the external details.

All of which can be changed, easily. Your biological father's comment upon your now forever-linked universes perhaps wasn't so off, after all -- _no action without reaction_. You of all people should have known.

(And it probably should disturb you a lot more.)

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Ziparumpazoo for, as ever, splendid beta work. All remaining mistakes are my own; I realise this is a very...optimistic vision for this show.


End file.
